


I Will Not Fall

by metalboxes



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Slow Build, Unresolved Sexual Tension, gg me, most voted ugliest chaos lord
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:45:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalboxes/pseuds/metalboxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Titus was loyal to the Imperium, the Chapter and himself. What transpired on forge world Graia to change that is better left unknown and unremembered.</p><p>Space Marine AU: In which Nemeroth is smarter about seducing Titus to chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was brought on by playing the game then immediately reading the ultramarine series; the fluff disconnect is massive. So I altered a few things here and there, filled in some gaps with headcanon, and of course it turns into a full on AU. I've taken some "artistic liberties" so it bridges the gap between a game and a narrative. Your thoughts are welcome!

 In a void ship stalking through the silent stars, the eddies of the warp pooled around a sleeping figure. They crawled into his dreams, tumbling and turning into a dizzying array of bleeding colours. They translated into something not quite a sound, but gutteral and real and impossible to grasp. What would have been a formless nightmare for most mortal beings, was instead a message for him.

Nemeroth awoke with a start. It was strange the way the vision came to him without the usual prior preparation, but it spoke of the importance of the task entrusted to him. From the dark gods themselves. He smiled at that. He absently wiped away the blood trickling from his ears and stood up with purpose.

 _They_  were impressed with his devotion to spreading the word of chaos. Countless worlds burned in their name. Of all their followers, they whispered, he was chosen for this task. This task was to simply retrieve a fragment of their power located on a forge world. If he could find it, it was his to use. Of course, it was a world swarming with millions upon billions of orks, with Imperial retribution already on its way. But if he could not succeed with such odds against him, he was not worthy.

And then there was the other target.

An Ultramarine by the name of Titus. A flash of serious eyes, a serious demeanor. And young - oh so _young_. Barely two centuries, and already a rising star in the Ultramarine's ranks. He knew his face now. He knew he was meant for great things, and it was his responsibility to ensure it was the right work. Nemeroth didn't know what was so special about this particular captain, but he would certainly relish the chance to find out.

* * *

   
"… Captain Titus."

At the sound of his name, his blood ran cold. There was something profoundly wrong about hearing his name uttered from that twisted grimace.

"Thanks to these brave space marines, we have broken through to this reality.." Nemeroth sneered mockingly. A single tremor of fury passed through him, bleeding through his veins with every beat of his racing heart. He fought to keep his face impassive as Nemeroth stared him down looking for any glimpse of weakness. Finding none, he was dismissed with a contemptive glance.

Indignation and rage coloured his cheeks. He wasn't a particularly proud man, but this? This time he welcomed its cold flush, knowing that rightous rage was a weapon of the emperor, urging him to get off his knees. As Nemeroth turned his back on Titus, he was warp damned sure to make him regret that. No one but a fool turned their back on an ultramarine captain. Fighting the force crushing him to the floor, he forced his body to crawl towards the power source inch by agonizing inch . Every step closer came with a shuddering thud, his astartes body starting to come apart from under the strain.

He reached the power source with a silent exhalation of relief and enclosed his massive gauntlet over it, victory burning at his throat. The familiar jolting kiss shocked him, but thankfully far more muted than last time. For a brief, shining moment, he could feel the power arcing up his arm, ready to throw off his psychic shackles. His mind was so overwhelmed he didn't even notice Nemeroth's speech trail off. Cackling streams of the warp's pure, unfiltered essence barely began to stream into him before the corrupted figure turned hastily in alarm and lifted his arm, hoisting him in the air with his psychic power. He slammed Titus against a wall, making him lose his tenuous grip on the sparking artifact. It rolled away, discharge whining to a stop.

"Clever fool."

Nemeroth stalked towards the immobilised Titus, predatory in his heavy gait. He struggled at his psychic bonds like a fly trapped in a web, knowing it was futile but trying anyway. Nemeroth stopped uncomfortably too close for his liking, directly face to face. Strangely enough Titus found himself taking in the broad lines of his face; while not handsome, his features were uncannily striking.

His gaze was drawn to Nemeroth's twisted mouth, and caught himself wondering about the story behind it. Plasma burn perhaps? Titus discarded the possibility because Nemeroth still possessed a face, unless that spoke of his immense fortitude. As Nemeroth started to talk, he was strangely fascinated by the way the muscles stretched under the scarred skin, as if they revealed his inner workings.

"You seem surprisingly able to resist my touch," he murmured. "Titus of the Ultramarines." Nemeroth pressed a weighty gauntlet against his chest as it crushed fluttering lungs. Titus reached up for it weakly. His grip tightened. "For that I should kill you where you stand." Titus's two hearts stopped. Not like this. Not trapped against a wall, outmatched by sorcery and killed like a dog. But the blow never came, and the hard grip relaxed fractionally. This unexpected survival gave Titus the strength to press the lightest touch of fingertips to the other's carved vambrace. They stood like that, hand on plate, eye to eye. To Titus, it was a declaration of his defiance and a promise of retribution. To Nemeroth, it looked like a wordless plea, a futile defiance of the world to come.

"And where do you think you're going? I haven't even thanked you yet for bringing me here." Nemeroth brought up his other hand to linger on his cheek before carefully tracing the two service studs on his temple in a figure eight, leaving a trail of split skin seeping blood.

"Only two centuries of service and already a captain," Nemeroth smiled. Or attempted to. "Your ambition and skill will serve the dark gods well… You are wasted here. "

It was an unexpectedly intimate touch. Although he knew this was a calculated show of power, he couldn't stop shivering at the touch, a burning flash of disgust racing down his spine. Nemeroth noticed this and quirked his mutilated mouth to the side, seemingly amused.

The "light" touch set his teeth on edge. Titus didn't know what he was playing at, and that made his body shake with nervous tension. Nemeroth trailed his hand down his features to grasp his chin and tilt it upwards, exposing his vulnerable jugular with deliberate slowness. He gazed on evenly, determined not to lose his composure. The claw gripping his chin twisted left and right, seeming to inspect his features. Although he couldn't look down, Titus could feel pinpricks of blood sliding down his collarbone.

He stood as defiantly as he could trapped against a wall, completely at the mercy of his captor. Nemeroth's shockingly electric eyes met his for the second time. This time contemplative.

Nemeroth abruptly dropped Titus. His feet barely touched the ground before he assaulted the much taller figure in a blur of motion. Laughing, Nemeroth pushed aside an attack which would have crushed his unarmored head and countered with an overhead blow. It missed its more agile target, splintering the ground as Titus threw a ferocious punch at his exposed midsection. Nemeroth took it without blinking, batting him away like a gnat. Titus grunted as the breath was slammed out of him but recovered quickly as he rolled into a crouch and skidded to a halt before charging him again.

They traded blows like this for what seemed like ages; Titus utterly relentless in his curious methodical implacability, wearing down the immovable hulk of what was once a man. But the chaos lord clearly had the upper hand, suffering only a smashed nose due to a missed palm strike as opposed to his opponent favoring his right arm and the deep gashes rending his armor. The golden aquila on his chest was utterly bisected by a casual swipe the captain was too slow to dodge. He knew he was worn out, first by the psychic assault and now by the way Nemeroth was clearly toying with him.

Titus hated it. He only saw Nemeroth and his mocking smile. His breathing quickened at the mere sight of his continued existence. As he rightfully should be! This intensity only grew as every attack was effortlessly repelled. This mockery of a man turned his back on everything he once stood for. To the Emperor he swore, he swore! He was an instrument of the emperor given form to smite this blasphemous traitor why did he not bleed WHY DID HE NOT DIE

"This is all you can offer me?" said Nemeroth, almost teasingly. "And here I thought you were different from those corpse-worshippers."

Titus snarled, an action which startled him. What on Holy Terra was he doing snarling like some wild beast? He rarely let the fever pitch of combat get to him, not since his scout years. It was at this point he knew he was being manipulated… perhaps sorcerously. The realisation doused him in cold water, sobering him quickly. He suddenly felt hyper-aware of the rage bubbling to the surface that was  _not his own_ , clouding his mind.

There was only so much bare fists could do against chaos enhanced terminator armor yet he kept at this foolish endeavor instead of actually  _thinking_. But the realisation came too late to stop his already airborne body from tackling him. "Yes, show me the depths of your fury! Show me your true nature!" Nemeroth roared in challenge and with a hint of satisfaction as he met him head on.

They met in a tangle of limbs, two titans clashing for dominance. Titus could feel rage frothing under his skin, bubbling up his throat, smashing against his iron will. He contained a tempest long hidden, swirling and raging against it's artificial constraints. It forced its way up his throat and wrenched his jaws open into a snarl, ready to be poured out in a raging scream, but Titus clamped down on the urge. "Discipline Titus, discipline." he reminded himself, shoving the raving, rampant emotions aside. "You are an astartes, a captain of the Ultr-"

Nemeroth bowled him over, knocking him flat on his back. In a flash he straddled his prone body, pinning him like a corpse ready for dissection. Titus recoiled in outrage. This interruption utterly shattered his rigid composure and finally broke the dams of his iron mind. Time slowed as redness utterly consumed his vision for a moment. Titus stiffened with shock over the sudden saturation of hue. He sat there breathing, not even daring to move. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, he was utterly composed.

"What. have you done to me." he said in a careful, measured tone, an impressive feat considering the circumstances. He wasn't sure if he'd like the reply. He lashed at his binds out barely contained frustration to no effect. Nemeroth grinned a shark's grin.

"Nothing that wasn't there before. Why, I merely gifted you with a small blessing. The first taste of the power you may yet wield, should you choose to forsake your ruinous path." He thumbed at the long trail of blood that was trickling from the cut on his forehead.

He whispered over the outraged thrashing. "And I certainly hope you do. I can offer you the galaxy. Think of it Titus! Conquering world after world, leading an army of millions, dominating the galaxy in glorious conquest with you at their head!" Nemeroth's voice touched a raw, almost religious fervor, uncomfortably reminding Titus of the tone Leandros sometimes adopted. "Nothing in this galaxy would stop you. Not at my side."

He was so completely stunned by the sheer audacity of those words. Nemeroth mistook this as hesitation and smirked. "Imagine the power you could wield…" He leaned in and crooned, sweetening the deal. By now Nemeroth was almost close enough to headbutt. If he could lure him in closer…

Titus lowered his gaze and decidedly did not speak. No furious deflections, no disgusted denial. He made deliberate eye contact under his heavy lids, allowed Nemeroth to see the slightest glimpse of inner conflict. For the briefest moment he could see a mirror of incredulity and triumph reflected back. Titus maintained eye contact as he slowly parted his mouth, curling at the corners. 

As Nemeroth leaned closer still, Titus took his chance. He threw his head forwards with the kind of desperation a man with no other options can muster. Their foreheads met in a sickening crunch, Nemeroth taken completely by surprise. Of course he shouldn't have expected an ultramarine captain to give in so easily.

"Nothing you say could tempt me from the path of honor!" Titus roared, slaking off the crawl of discomfort. He wanted the others to hear, he didn't even want to think about what was running through their minds. Suddenly, he could feel the ground quaking, vibrations intensifying with every second. What in the warp….?

"WAAAAAAAGH!"

The massive weight pinning him down instantly vanished. Nemeroth's comically startled face was unexpectedly replaced by a blur of scrap metal. He heard a  _very_ heavy impact ring through the metal floor.

"I ain't so easy to kill…" growled an unmistakable voice. So Warboss Grimskull wasn't dead after all. As Titus rose to his knees, a psychic force sent him sprawling to the floor again. After all, Nemeroth didn't get so far without being incautious. He could hear the shrieking impact of ceremite on ceremite as the two juggernauts clashed, and the rattling flashes of gunfire flickering just on the edge of his vision. It took a frustrating eternity and all of his effort to turn his head aside, just in time to see the ork get shoved off the railing, but not before pulling Nemeroth down with him into the depths below.

The cackling nimbus of force around him reluctantly pulled itself apart and vanished into a wisp, dissipating into the air. Titus took a deep breath, unclenched his fists and slowly rose in a controlled ascent. He spied Leandros and Sidonus doing the same. He was going to have to answer quite a few awkward questions, he could tell. But now was not the time. The bloodletters were still here, and as long as they were, he had a duty to purge them. Titus relished the thought of simple, honest combat. It cleared his mind,  
something he sorely, desperately needed right now. He picked up his pitted chainsword and boltpistol, already striding towards the daemons.

* * *

 

"Emperor protect us…" Leandros whispered in a voice brimming with horrified revulsion as he saw the chaos the psychic scourge had wreaked. The sky… the sky had turned strange, and warp twisted. The gaping, screaming rift in the heavens so blatantly unnatural struck a chord with something deep within him. The daemons surrounding them shrieked, hissed and echoed the same disquieting sound. It tugged insistently at his ears, begging to be let in, and he never wished for an operational helmet so badly just to distance himself from the world. He felt tainted just by hearing it. Was that what was happening? Exposure to the warp corrupts even the noblest soul…

"We need to get to the lift." The familiar voice of Captain Titus, along with the commanding order interrupted his horrified reverie and spurred Leandros into action.

 

* * *

   
Titus felt more in control as he watched Leandros pick himself up. He slaked off the last remnants of unease as he settled back into the comforting rhythm of commanding, shooting and slashing. It was easy to pretend nothing had ever happened, but not entirely. It only reinforced the thin veneer of sanctuary Titus stretched over his mind. Convincing himself that when he was… marked, it didn't change something within him irrecoverably. Something shifted, clicked into place when his vision washed red, but he didn't know what.

Speak of the warp damned thing… It still hadn't stopped bleeding. He scowled in annoyance and paused a moment to wipe it away, only managing to smear it across his palm. And of course the whole thing would leave him with a headache. It pulsated hotly, in time with the thundering of his racing heartbeat.

As they fought on, it was getting increasingly harder to ignore the glances Leandros kept throwing his way. Something was obviously bothering the younger astartes. Not focusing entirely on the task at hand, Leandros didn't notice a daemon eager for bloodshed lunge for his back with barbed sword raised high. Titus intercepted the blow easily and countered with a gut-wrenching hook, surprised at how easily it went down. Blood and gore splattered his face as he pressed further down, chainsword stuttering as it snagged on rancid flesh. It wailed as he wrenched the weapon free, the stink of sulphur assaulting his nose. A hard stomp quickly put the pathetic display at an end. The jolting sensation of driving his foot through the fractured bone and the surge of combat stimms that came with the visceral display made him feel infinitely lighter. He then turned around to reprimand Leandros for getting distracted, but the rebuke on his lips died when he saw the expressions on their faces.

Feeling vaguely guilty, he replaced the reprimand with a terse "Get to the lift. Now." He was suddenly all too aware of the blood caking his armor, the desecrated aquila, and most damning of all, the unusual interest Nemeroth showed in him. His forehead twinged as if to express its displeasure at being forgotten. If he was a superstitious man, he'd think they were signs, warnings.

Why was Nemeroth so determined to lure him over to chaos? Why he didn't he kill him on the spot? And more importantly, what did he do to make him feel so... strange and off balance? He banished the thoughts with a shake of his head. His squad could think what they liked, but Titus knew the truth. He was loyal. The thoughts echoed in his head as he turned towards the lift, turning his back on the carnage and betrayal.


	2. Chapter 2

The loud bang of bolter shells echoed off the walls, almost painfully, but Sidonus didn't dare relent. He fired off a few last speculative rounds as the lift doors closed. A daemon moving like smoke came within inches of the gap before its head exploded in a hail of gore. When the lift doors clanged shut, only then did he finally lower his bolter as if he couldn't quite believe it himself. They heard the body slump against the door above them as the lift juddered into motion under their feet, taking them further into the depths of the manufactorum, away from the corpse strewn battlefield. The light blinked placidly above their heads, casting shadows on the moving walls.

Titus needed a moment to gather his thoughts - and now that he had one, he didn't know what to do with it. The stillness in the air suffocated the thumping of his heart. His body didn't feel real; as someone who had to be aware of their every movement, this was worrying. He flexed his fingers and focused intently on how his chest rose and fell with every shuddering breath. Irritatingly, the cut on his forehead prickled, but he didn't want to let go of his bolter.

Predictably, Leandros broke the heavy silence first.

"Did that fiend speak truth? Did we cause a chaos invasion?" He said it as if it pained him, gesturing wildly with the bolter he too had not put down. His words were too sudden, too loud. Titus hid a wince as it scraped at his already frayed nerves.

"Of course we did." Sidonus said bitterly. His voice turned dark and derisive. "His inquisitor puppet manipulated us from the moment we met."

Titus’ quick, shallow breaths stilled for a moment. Mind racing, he cast back to the first time they encountered that lonely servo-skull. The panic in his voice; his urgency, his fear. What was to say he was attacked by orks? He knew the long game traitor heretics like Nemeroth took, he could have planned this for months, even years. It was just as likely he had established an earlier presence, masked by the teeming mass of greenskins. And where did Titus himself factor into this plan? He couldn't fathom the outcome Nemeroth possibly had in mind. The implications.. were not good.

"That’s not important anymore." He shook his head and jerked his head upwards. "Inquisitor puppet or not, there are now daemons and traitors running loose on this world." The thought itched at him as his fingers tightened around his bolter and clutched it closer to him.

"And whose fault is that?" Leandros snapped.

There was a moment of shocked silence before Sidonus’s eye flashed towards him. Their gazes met for a while before Leandros glanced aside. He continued staring at the floor, either uncaring or unaware of the warning. “What was that out there? You and that…” He grimaced. “Chaos sorceror. He had you at his mercy, I saw it.” He shifted his weight onto his back foot uneasily. The inevitable question Titus was dreading; One he wouldn't, or couldn't answer.

Not because he had anything to hide - no. Nemeroth simply had no idea what he spoke of. Barbed words carefully aimed to make him doubt his ironclad faith. Who did he think he was, to even assume for the slightest moment he had the potential to turn? A momentary lapse of control caused by a simple misleading chaos trick, the temper a holdover from his earlier years. Aside from a weary exhaustion, he didn't feel any different at the moment. Nemeroth just… had a way of bringing it out of him that was all. He knew from that moment of connection that he would get under his skin like no enemy before. That’s all it was. As if laughing at him, the recollection of his mocking smile still lingered in his mind. Titus was spared from answering the unspoken question - or implication? - by a sudden lurch.

"+Manufactorum level one+" the mechanical voice announced, far too cheerfully for his liking. The doors grated open to reveal the unwelcome visage of gleeful slaughter and butchery. The ever distant clamour of battle quickly became overpowering. The scrappy chunks of a greenskin splattered lightly on his pauldron as the rest of it landed in a meaty thud at Leandros’ feet. He kicked it to the side with a grimace.

"…We will discuss this later, Leandros." muttered Titus. He unclasped his chainsword, strode out into the fray and they set to work.

 

* * *

 

 

Left. Daemon to the left.

Swivel. Arm up, arm down. Titus danced around the charging form and decapitated the howling beast with a brutal hacking blow.   
  
Leandros is being overwhelmed.  
  
Draw bolter and fire. He swiftly exchanged his bloodied chainsword for his bolter, drawing a bead on the threats and stitched a line of bullets across the greenskins, wounding them enough to give Leandros some space.

Group of daemons incoming.

 

 

 

 

Thin their ranks. Titus pulled the pin to a frag grenade and lobbed it. They seemed to flow around the detonation, paying no heed to casualties. Several split off to chase his brothers, bounding and baying like hounds for their blood. They would be denied their fill. He drew his chainsword and braced in preparation to break the line.  
  
Enemy contact.  
  
Engage in melee combat. Titus took his chainsword, planted his feet and faced the oncoming tide. And it broke against him. There was resistance at first, but soon even Titus was swept off his feet and lost in the flow of battle. The more he fought, the more familiar his movements became. Meeting every blow with a blow of his own, Titus fought with an internal rhythm, churning the discordant flow of battle. He was surprised at how quickly he tore through them, little more than flesh fodder for his sword. Skin gave way easier than corrupted ceremite after all. After the unsatisfactory stalemate with Nemeroth, it was a reassuring balm to his impotent frustration.

He smashed the spiked pommel into a daemon’s face, and the easy, efficient savagery of it was pleasing. Sullen, slitted eyes lingered on his wounds until he put them out with cold steel. He was a weapon of the emperor and this was how he honed his edge. He could feel something building, burning in his fingertips. With every wound he shed, he seemed to move faster, think quicker, strike harder, until he reached the critical point where clarity broke over him. Something inside him jarred with the impact, and suddenly the battlefield was his.

Nothing was beyond his bloody handed grasp. Everyone but him moved like they were all suffocating in the void of space around him. He anticipated these moments, these precious, brief moments he could snatch from the frenzy of battle. It was strangely tranquil, in its own bloody and misfortunate way. He was floating, weightless on the tide of righteous battle. He shook off his shackles and flew; crippled limbs here, split open heads there, lined up shots and executed them all.

But he thought he heard a distant warbling sound.

He faltered for a second, but only a second.

A daemon kept shifting in and out of the immaterium, but it wouldn't escape judgement for long. His grinding chainsword clashed with the blackened end of its club. He ducked low to eviscerate the clumsy wielder when- Nemeroth? Damn him, he couldn’t resist the urge to instinctively half-turn his head to catch the glimpse out of the corner of his eye like a puppet on strings.

Titus rebuked himself as he looked back and saw no distinctive silhouette, and then there was no time for any distractions. The chainswords motion still continued; teeth scrabbled for purchase off the toughened hide, scoring only the thinnest red line. The daemon reared back and retaliated, smashing into him. Taken off guard, Titus staggered with the force. He took another step back as he defensively dragged his chainsword up, but something heavy was in the way. The cold pinprick of a claw slid around his neck.

Panic squeezed his primary heart. Titus recoiled and sheared the attacker’s arm at the wrist. It wasn't Nemeroth’s touch he felt, but instead the clawed hand of a daemon come too close. The body pitched towards him, and he felt the slightest impression of a breeze on his face that rustled his hair and skimmed over his lips before it vanished into a wisp.

Titus stared wildly at the smoke. Belatedly, he brought his guard up to meet the other threats, too late to meet the club that smashed into his face. His head snapped back, left reeling from the impact. Stupid, stupid! He batted away the barbed lash, but not the hooked sword that bit into his arm. Claws ripped into joints, and he fended them off as well as he could, but there were too many of them. He struggled to keep his composure as they kept on coming even as he killed them, battering his defences down as soon as he raised them. He wouldn’t die like this. He couldn’t when the very effects of his own folly still hung crooked in the sky, baleful eye on all.

Blood ran into eyes swollen shut, barely standing, straining. He waited for the right moment, lashed out and was rewarded with a splintering crack of bone. Both apprehension and anticipation pooled in his gut as he readied himself for retaliation, but it never came. Titus felt hands clamp around his arms from behind. He twisted wildly in its grasp bucking up into his grip, were they taking him-

"Easy, Titus."

He stopped, and relaxed at that, slumping fractionally into Sidonus’s arms. He blearily opened his eyes to see his power axe sparking blood and Leandros firing rounds into the last twitching body. The staccato burst rang in his head, resonating with the headache. He felt a hopeless sort of hysteria bubbling up he couldn’t allow himself to voice. This situation was patently absurd; he almost laughed at himself could he find the humor to. Seeing shadows in every corner… The recollection of Nemeroth’s eyes burned into him. He shook off Sidonus who reluctantly let go and stood straight. Nothing he wouldn’t recover from. At least the ceremite plating was minimally breached, though he couldn’t say the same about his joints. He strode towards Leandros, downplaying his limping gait.

"Leandros." He called out hoarsely. He looked up, a strange expression Titus couldn’t quite parse out on his face.

"Don’t waste ammunition." 

Leandros stared blankly at him for a moment, before he turned abruptly and walked off. Titus studied the retreating back. He remembered what those first, heady years as a fully fledged space marine were like, but this was not the first time, and they were in difficult circumstances. This couldn’t continue. They proceeded further through the facility, caution dogging their footsteps, a darkness tracking his. Titus could feel Sidonus keeping a wary eye on him from the back, but the feeling of being watched - no matter now well intentioned - unnerved him. He felt like an inexperienced scout again as he perforated any sign of movement with a twitch of the finger. Granted, most of them were legitimate targets, but it still felt like he was being ruled by his unease. He didn’t like the feeling that maybe, this was beyond his control. It wasn’t much further before they encountered yet another bloody hurdle.

"There!" A finger pointed at them, closely followed by gaping maws of bolter barrels. "Retrieve the warp device!" As if they weren’t visible enough already, Leandros’ chainsword whirred in challenge. He took two steps before Titus halted his movement and dragged him behind cover where Sidonus was already waiting for them. Leandros shrugged him off, and scraped his pauldron along his as he tried to dart past, making a god-awful sound.

"Why are we hiding? There’s only three of them!"

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you, boy." Sidonus gravely advised.

"And why shouldn’t I? 

Titus replied this time. “Because one of them has a plasma cannon.”

A blinding plasma round burst open on the ground just by his feet, supplemented by fragmented bolter fire. He estimated at least four. Very poor trigger discipline. Leandros barely dodged some melted slag thrown up from the blast. Good. He’d learn faster that way.

Titus blinked away the dancing spots in his vision. “Power armor may prove resilient, but not against plasma rounds. We need to flank them.”

"And before the cannon is primed," Sidonus added. "which is why we need to move right now."

They hurried to maneuver, bursts of bolter fire dogging their footsteps as they ran. Titus silently urged them on as he counted down the seconds in his head. He prayed it was going to be enough. The blast was unusually intense, it must be modified or daemonically influenced. In that case, they had a a bit more time than he had expected, but it would be a close call.

They emerged to their flank, his gamble paying off. The three chaos marines were still surveying the area, hunting for them. They hadn’t been noticed yet, thank the emperor. Titus slowly leveled his bolter but abruptly halted in his tracks. His brow furrowed as he realised something. Only three? Either his estimation was off, or…

The quiet click of a trigger was heard. It might as well have sounded like a gunshot.

Titus whipped around to see a ram helmed marine hoisting a plasma cannon. The click sounded again without effect before Titus realised it was still disabled. He heard the marine pull the trigger ineffectively again before tearing towards them. It was too much of a risk to shoot him, especially when wielding such volatile ammunition. They all readied their weapons in mutual agreement, and the lightning crackle of Sidonus’s activated power axe attracted the other chaos marines attentions in a flash. This was looking better by the minute.

Leandros was the closest, and the first to bear the brunt of the attack. Leandros excelled in melee combat, but against a veteran of a thousand battlefields, he was nothing. Titus trusted Sidonus to hold his own for a while, he’d needed help. They both circled the chaos marine, dealing rending strikes wherever they could land one. Leandros was shouting obscenities, benedictions to the emperor, anything that would get a rise out of him. The chaos marine was cagey, surprisingly resistant to his taunts. At least their close proximity meant that he couldn’t fire without becoming collateral, but Titus grew tired of this back and forth. Just then, Leandros lunged, clearly reaching the end of his patience faster than he did. Titus knew instantly it was a terrible mistake, and could only watch with a helpless frustration as the chaos marine smashed the red-hot glowing barrel into the damn idiot’s face.

Leandros fell back, fist scrubbing at the raw wound. But he didn’t stop there. He gave no reprieve, malicious glee twitching in his fingers. Just as Titus reached him, he was already standing atop Leandros with his plasma cannon held dangling above his face, crooning in some lilting tongue.

Then he pulled the trigger. The backwash of ozone crackle stung his eyes.

Leandros was screaming,  _still screaming_  as excess heat was vented into his face. The chaos space marine was too caught up reveling in his terror to notice Titus coming up behind him, blinking away tears and chainsword held loosely in hand. He spun him around and tore his head from his shoulders in one graceless, vengeful blow. It rolled onto the floor. Hand shaking slightly from the exertion, he reached out to pull Leandros up by the arm. He’d half expected him to refuse, disdain his help to save face, but he closed his hand around ceremite without objection.

He hauled him to his feet and checked him over for injuries. “Leandros.” He tried experimentally, and Leandros turned to look at him. Not at him, Titus realised with a rush of alarm, but beyond him. His wide eyes stared sightlessly past him. There wasn’t any time to process this change in situation, Sidonus’ condition became much more dire in the time they had wasted. He left Leandros there in his rush to aid him. He wasn’t experienced enough to fight without his vision, let alone without his helm’s auto senses. They were hardly Space Wolves. Sidonus had already dispatched one of their number and was currently battling it out with the other two traitors, great rending cracks in their armor. But Sidonus himself had not fared too well against these odds either. The power axe grip was slick with blood, necessitating minute shifts under his careful, weak grip.

Titus stepped over the mauled carcass Sidonus left behind, and joined the fight.

Fighting in tandem, equally matched, a performance perfected by practice, Titus almost let himself believe they had a chance. In the midst of the confusing melee, he heard the pop of overloaded field generator as a crushed power axe came spinning to his feet. Another squeal of tortured ceremite, and Sidonus was sent hurtling past him to stagger against a wall. Titus reached out to catch him, but his fingers grasped empty air. When Sidonus finally collapsed, he fell like his strings were cut all at once. The smirking victor crushed the haft of the axe under his heel as he stalked towards his fallen foe.

Titus was clenching his chainsword so tight the weapon was shaking.

It started in his fingers. It pinched at him. From the cold steel of his chainsword he felt sensation in his numb grip. It wanted blood, and so did Titus. It seemed to guide his hand as an extension of his will. With every step that dog took towards his beloved battle brother, his hand trembled with increasing intensity. Gritting his teeth, Titus vaulted towards him and thrust. It ripped a large gash in his thigh, tearing into tendons and bone. As the chaos space marine dropped to one knee before him, he grabbed ahold of a spiralling horn, wrenched its head back and sawed his chainsword once, hard across his neck. Bright arterial spurts painting his front, he split the ruined body’s head open with two methodical blows. He let it drop face down on the floor, if it had much of a face at all, fighting the urge to do the same. He sheathed his chainsword to free both hands. He moved to where Sidonus was passed out, draped his limp arm across his shoulders and exhaled deeply. He slowly made his way to Leandros. His footsteps were intentionally heavy to signal his position, but if that was slightly easier to do than he had thought, he didn’t think anything of it.

"Captain," Leandros was sitting on the floor, head bowed, a severed head in his lap. "I think you need to hear this." A harsh, buzzing whispering was emmanating from the helm.

”+…ca…-ha.e fo—?+

Titus set Sidonus gently against a wall then knelt next to him, and took it from his outstretched hands by the carved horns. He held it close to his ear, head quizzically tilted slightly to one side. He strained to make out faint, fuzzy edges of words but ultimately to his distaste, had to put it on. His nose wrinkled as he caught hold of the overpowering scent. It hissed as it clicked into place. The faint voice instantly cut into guttering clarity.

+..I’m not aski..g again. St.p ignoring me, I -swear to the dark gods.. h..ve you killed the loyalists?+”

Titus froze in place. Five minutes since engagement.

The voice continued on, unaware of his growing silent horror. “+..eant to — that.. don`t care, fine be that w. ..y I’m taking - squad to save your.— sorry soul. Two m-nutes. out.+”

And with that, the vox clicked off. Dead air filled the dead space. He ripped off the helm and threw it on the ground, suddenly filled with inexplicable anger. He stood there, he knew he was wasting valuable time before they got here but he couldn’t. think. He scrubbed his face in a rare allowance of weakness, since Leandros couldn’t see and Sidonus was half dead on the floor. Dried blood flaked off his forehead and his roaming fingers broke the scabbing seal over the wound Nemeroth dealt him.

He couldn’t both move Sidonus and lead Leandros by the time chaos reinforcements got here. Leandros would be an easy target for any roving marauders. And Sidonus was an easier one, half-dead like that god-emperor knew when he would wake. He himself was not in much better shape, he was too weak to retreat with both in time. His theoretical ran three possibilities. He saved Leandros at the cost of leaving Sidonus here to be killed in his slumber. He saved Sidonus at the cost of leaving Leandros behind blindly facing his fate. Leandros was the future of the chapter, yes, but Sidonus was a decorated veteran and his friend and the other was impudent and reckless and dogmatic and so many things he shouldn’t be.. much like Titus was.

The last option was not much better. Stand his ground and face the beasts that would seek them dead. Alone and injured, he didn’t stand a chance; they would kill him in short order and move past his cooling corpse to butcher his men. The image of Leandros standing there snarling, but helpless and blind as they hack him apart and tear out his gene-seed to recycle, Sidonus denied the honor of going down fighting, their corpses desecrated, and above all, chaos overtaking this sector and beyond because of the mistake of a single man. That image was all too easy to see.

Titus could already hear the pounding footsteps coming around the corner. He was a space marine; he knew no fear. But at that moment, he came very close to that teetering edge, fear for his men, fear of not completing his duty, fear of complicity in chaos-

Something crawled up his throat, inch by inch. It dug its hot fingers into his voice, clung tight when he choked. He refused to show any sign of his internal struggle, only shifted his stance in determination. He reached deep inside himself for any measure of remaining strength, something, anything he could draw power from. They were closer now, five of them he could sense in the ringing vibrations of the steel floor. And another, resonating from the…air?

Nemeroth.

He sensed the familiar wash of a warp flare right at his back. He twitched in that direction, but hesitated to move. Was this yet another trick of the mind? He turned to look anyway. No, Nemeroth was standing right there, standing stark against the backlit portal, seeming more present and solid than anything around him. Everything else faded into irrelevance when he saw that terribly real figure. His hesitance to act allowed Nemeroth to step close only inches away, clawed gauntlets to settle around his face, curled almost gently over his eyes. They were unpleasantly warm and somehow organic on his face. Titus stood tense, eyes covered, waiting for the claws to stiffen and drive their points into his skull. But they never did. The vibrations from the floor intensified.

He felt the first chaos space marine burst around the corner just as the darkness lifted. He blinked once, twice, whirled around to kill and die and he was suddenly surrounded by corpses where there weren’t before. Nemeroth was nowhere to be seen. He tasted blood. Titus paused, lowering the chainsword he didn’t draw. He gently touched his head and probed at his mouth, his fingers coming away wet. Behind him Leandros was murmuring something. Titus could barely make out his words through the ringing in his head.

"What did you do? Bloody Throne, what did you do?"

 

* * *

 

The wound had long since scabbed over, but Titus traced over it again and again. He couldn’t ignore it now, pretend it was not there. He didn’t know what Nemeroth had done to him, but he would not submit.

"Titus?" He heard his name called out from the other side of the loading docks. He looked up to find Sidonus leaning on a crate. Heavily bandaged, but alive. He made a series of indistinct movements which Titus assumed to be beckoning him over. He grew wary, then hated himself for it. He could trust Sidonus with anything; whether in a battle or an argument, he always had his back. Why should this be any different? Resolutely ignoring the little voice telling him this was a bad idea, he made his way over. He stared just off the distant figure as he picked his way through the debris. 

Sidonus smiled grimly. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you.”

"Of course." Titus nodded resolutely, as if it could banish the apprehension lurking behind his eyes. "What can I do for you, old friend?"

Sidonus shifted slightly, sending his replacement chainsword clanking against his hip. Titus’s sight aligned to it reflexively before averting them self consciously. Sidonus noticed his unease and smiled again, this time reaching his eye. He clasped Titus’s forearm then nodded behind him. Titus followed his gaze and saw Leandros sat atop a crate, cloth in his hand and boltgun parts scattered around him. Even at this distance, Titus could see his furrowed brow.

"It’s about Leandros." He said gruffly. The sheer relief that bubbled up in him was tainted by guilt. Of course he didn’t know. How could he? "He only wants to impress you, Titus. You should see how he looks at you."

Leandros had looked at him plenty since Sidonus woke up. None of them held any modicum of admiration.

"It’s a shame I can’t live up to his expectations then." Titus replied shortly.

Sidonus sighed. “The lad’s barely out of basic, what did you expect? He’s had everything drilled in his head without any field experience.”

It was wrong. Sidonus had it wrong.

Sidonus waited for a reply, but when he sensed there would be no response, he gave him a look that lasted uncomfortably long and shook his head. He turned away and placed a hand on the chipped brick surface of a wall. “I don't like this." He finally said, almost confidentially. "This is all bad news Titus. An ork invasion, and now the tender mercies of chaos heretics. I’m surprised the place is standing at all.”

Now this was a more familiar topic. Titus recognised the clear opening he was given and wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

"It won’t be standing for much longer if we don’t close that warp gate."

Sidonus smiled slightly. “I’m assuming you have a plan for that?”

Titus returned the self-assured smile, slowly but surely. Familiar ground. “We cut the link between warp gate and tower.”

"We use Invictus."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's uh been about a year and...8 months since I last updated. I know that's a little ridiculous, but trust me, this thing is gonna be finished no matter how long it takes. I have plans. Plans, I tell you. 
> 
> Sirithy, I still hope you get to see this chapter

"Greenskins," Leandros spat. He kicked over an almost-bisected corpse, spilling its guts everywhere and tramped through its insides. "Ugly things. Screaming and hollering beasts only too willing to fall before our blades. Why aren't we dealing with the real threats?"

It was rather a shame Leandros had gotten over his temporary muteness, Titus thought, unkindly. The tentative hope Titus was harboring vanished once Leandros had gotten his voice back. Any reservations Leandros may have had in confrontation vanished in the face of easy bloodshed, and he was back to his usual belligerent self, if not moreso than usual. It wasn't unreasonable for truculent hostility so soon after a fight lost so disgracefully, and Titus still wasn't sure to what extent Leandros understood what had transpired after his temporary blinding. He suspected the ugly puckering around his eyes would remain, long after treatment from an apothecary, and while Leandros had never been particularly vain, he was still young, proud, and for the most part unmarked. This was not an honorable wound.

And after all, he himself did not escape that either, he thought bitterly. The mark slowly split open again over time shortly after he declared his plan, oozing black blood. Sidonus had been the one to draw his attention to it, and the thought soured his mood. Nemeroth must have coated his talons in some kind of poison to play games with his larraman's organ like this.

"It is easy to dismiss the orks as a negligible threat in the face of a greater one," he said as they ascended the central staircase. "but not wise. Yes, we must not forget the implications of the presence of chaos on this world, but we first came to this planet for a reason. The orks will need be dealt with. They will not disappear if we shut our eyes and will them away." And as much as Titus hated to admit it, that was exactly what he was doing now, only in a different sense. When he turned his head in shame, he could only see his smiling face and that gentle mockery looking back from the black of his lids..

"Besides," Sidonus said. "The Imperial Guard needs help yet. They are beset on both sides, outclassed by daemons and orks alike. We would hardly be going out of our way to help, especially since it is our fault-"

"No," Titus cut off sharply. His hand twitched in agitation, as if it could break through the static. "The blame is mine, and mine alone. I admit that freely."

Sidonus regarded him seriously for a moment. "Since it is our dear captains fault," he conceded, "they are pressed on all sides. It is our duty to relieve them when we can. Upon our honor as Ultramarines, we cannot leave them against a foe they have no hope of defeating. Especially so now that it is not much distant from our other, new objective."

"This objective is ridiculous," Leandros spat. "It goes against every codex regulation in the book! You must be out of your mind, or worse, that traitorous sorcerer has a hand in this thinking."

No, Titus thought. Surely even Leandros would not go there. 

"The Codex Astartes," he spat viciously, "warns that those in league with chaos can withstand the warp's touch."

At this, Sidonus reached out for Leandros, but he snatched his arm away. "No! I don't want any of your fumbling words. All you do is parrot what the captain says," Leandros rounded on Titus, "I want to hear it from _you_. Tell me how is it possibly sane to think that using this warp device again after it has failed us once before is a good idea!"

Titus fixed a stare on Leandros, and even he could not help but take a step back from the intensity of it. "Tell you, Leandros? You demand of me to 'tell you' why we are taking this course of action?"

"I will tell you."

He put a hand on his chainsword, and both other men stiffened suddenly. 

"This weapon is a mark of my authority", he stated calmly. "I proved myself worthy myself on a hundred thousand battlefields before I received my captaincy. I knelt before the chapter master as I swore to honor the chapter and the Primarch in all my actions, and to lead my company into glory. I take responsibility for the lives and fates of a thousand men, and every decision I make, I act accordingly in the light of the Emperor. When you have received the same honor as me, then you may demand of me answers. But for now, learn your place and learn respect."

"Now Leandros, take point."

Leandros was silent for a long moment, but when he finally moved, it was to solemnly nod and salute. He moved past them, and as he passed a half-opened bay door, Sidonus shared a proud look, and Titus couldn't help but smile briefly as he returned it.

Leandros suddenly disappeared from view with a startled shout. Titus whipped his head around and cursed as he saw a pair of huge hydraulic shears clamped around Leandros' leg. Both Sidonus and Titus sprinted for the descending doors as a power klaw dragged Leandros wholly through. Titus made it just in time to stop the descent an inch away from the ground and heaved with incredible effort. "Sidonus," he shouted, his power armor servos already whining against the groaning weight. "Sidonus, help Leandros." 

But Sidonus, instead of helping him force the door open, simply stood there and shook his head. A lance of disbelief stabbed his heart as the weight slipped from his hands. The sound of the door slamming into the ground with a heavy finality jolted him back to reality.

"Leandros!" Shouting this time, he hammered against the sheer metal with the grip of his bolter,  looking for a response, any response.

Not even gunfire. As Leandros's first resort in all situations, that was worrying.

Cursing, he hurled his bolter at the floor and threw himself at the door only to be stopped by a iron grip. Titus ripped his arm from his grasp and turned on Sidonus to demand an explanation, and his expression suggested that it'd better be a good one.

"We're not getting through this in a hurry. It's no good. Better look for another way in." He said simply, offering just that in the calm manner of someone who had faith in their actions. 

That realization drained the tension from his muscles. Titus was reluctant to admit it, even to himself, but Sidonus was right. These were adamantium reinforced and full inches thick. By the time they'd manage to cut through the doors, one way or another it would be too late. Leandros could handle himself, but he was still so inexperienced. That thing battled with Nemeroth in terminator armor and won. Leandros prided himself on his close quarters combat; would he be so prideful as to engage an ork warboss hand to hand? Knowing Leandros, he would likely do that anyway.

He could already hear the rattling of bolter fire on the other side and its explosive response. And if he strained, he could make out the big, booming laughter of Warboss Grimskull, having the time of his life. He gritted his teeth.

"Titus!"

He looked up sharply, his fists unclenching.

Sidonus jerked his head. "I've found some intact controls. Might need some work though, It's crawling with orks."

Titus nodded sharply in response, collecting his thoughts as he pushed away from the slab of adamantium and the situation developing behind it. Whatever was happening behind closed doors, it was in the Emperor's hands now.

"Then what on Holy Terra are we waiting for?"

 

* * *

 

"ARE YOU HAVING FUN YET, SPACE MARINE?"

"SHUT UP" Leandros screamed back as he swung round to pump yet another howling ork trying to jump on his back with bolter fire, daring to drench his purity seal with its brackish blood. Damned orks didn't know when to quit! He turned back to face the raucous laughter of that big dumb lumbering greenskin.

"You," he panted. "Greenskin."

It appeared to grin, but it was hard to tell with the metal jaw. As it were, the continental mass of fused metal shifted up and to the sides.

"I dunno who you're talkin to, humie. I'm Boss Grimskull!"

Leandros furiously thumbed the rune-activator on his chainsword with a slippery, gore drenched digit.

oh he was going to get it.

(The ork only laughed and readied its missiles.)

 

* * *

 

The ground quaked beneath his feet, almost flinging him entirely to one side. Squinting through the smoke, Titus could see a jagged dark outline where there once wasn't before. Titus rose faster than Sidonus did and rushed towards the yawning, shredded hole in the wall. Choking cloudshung in the air, but Titus plowed through it, squinting, trying to make out anything in the indistinct dusty haze. Another screaming rocket shook the earth, further to the right. "Leandros!' He shouted, though his voice sounded muffled, as if underwater. To his side, his eyes traced the wicked curve of a giant silhouette. He forced his gaze away and pressed on regardless. Just an illusion, he chastised himself as he ran through the miasma, uncertain and half-fearful of what he would discover on the other side.

Behind him, footsteps.

Titus didn't look back. He knew what he would see if he did. So he paid it no mind, not as he ran and ran and ran, far longer than it was possible for such a short distance. He would have stopped, to see that he was still in the midst of the same, swirling patterns, but if he did then the footsteps would draw nearer. There was no time to think, just mindless urgency, an ugly instinct in the pit of his stomach, dust streaming from his fingers, until it simply became running from the figure at his back, even as they drew closer and closer to his frantic pace, dogging his heels, half a beat right at his back faster and faster and faster edge scraping claws at his neck-

then he was left stumbling into the harsh light, filtered by twinkling dust motes. He blinked as the footsteps behind him gained a decidedly real quality, striking the grated floor heavily. They slowed as Sidonus jogged towards him. "That power source lights you up like the astronomicon. Hard to miss." He nodded towards the artifact in question.

The power source was buzzing, sparking erratically, scorching little marks into the paint at his thigh. His skin tingled where the sparks landed, but he brushed the black paint flakes brusquely and the sensation faded away. He ignored the growing pit of dread, _the power source is contained_ , he reminded himself, _and it cannot affect you_. _It cannot._ He waited a moment longer, but no invisible fingers lingered down on his spine. Something trickled lazily down his neck, but he didn't dare check if it was sweat or blood. He had the distinct feeling he wouldn't like what he saw.

Nemeroth wanted to play games with him? Fine. Titus wouldn't play.

Titus strode forwards out of the gloom, into the clinical light of the loading bay.

 

* * *

 

His desperate relief at seeing Leandros whole was doused by the revelation that he was collapsed on his knees, besides a mountainous scrapheap of a beast missing a head. His mind flashed through a thousand scenarios, but the most likely ran through his head again and again; Leandros confident in his victory, swaggering up to his fallen opponent only to discover that the ork's monstrous power claw still had a cutting edge...

He approached Leandros, his mind worming at the thought of some terrible hidden injury. Yes he was irritable and pedantic and naive, but already Titus could see a glimmering potential as the 2nd company champion. It would be a shame for him to end not even a year into his service. He could see in his mind's eye the man Leandros would grow into, perhaps still as arrogant but would serve the chapter well. It was nothing he wouldn't grow out of, given time and experience. But he feared he would not even have that.

But Titus couldn't quell the surge of irritation when he saw Leandros was in fact, on his knees trying to hack a trophy off the fallen warboss and it was as if his sentimentality had never existed. Every subsequent step towards Leandros added to his guilty anger, feeling more and more foolish for having worried, until he finally reached the prone figure and snapped "Get up."

Leandros totally ignored his words, appearing to be completely engrossed in being arm-deep in the ork's gaping maw and snapping off a tusk.

"I said, get up," he grabbed Leandros roughly by the arm and hauled him to his feet. "Leave it! Ultramarines do not grub in the dirt for vainglorious trophies!"

Leandros stared blankly at him, as if in total surprise, and that last, furious indignity finally drove Titus to slap it out of his hands. The plaque-stained tooth spun away and embedded in the dirt point-first.

Leandros followed the arc of the tooth, then finally looked him in the eyes, and resentment equaling his own flashed across his face.

"Do you understand?"

Titus turned around and strode across the clearing littered with greenskin bodies without waiting for a response. "Move on." He could almost hear Leandros seething in sullen compliance, and the thought brought an unbidden self-satisfaction to the fore.

But Sidonus, left behind and forgotten about by both aggrieved parties, knelt down and picked up the discarded tooth. Rolling it in the palm of his hand, he stood back up with sloped shoulders and a gentle sigh to do what was right, and damn Titus' bullheadedness. 

Somewhere along the way, the footsteps had paused. Titus glanced back to see what it was this time, and paused in disbelief for one long, horrible moment. Titus looked to see Sidonus gently folding Leandros' fingers over a pearly tooth, talking, their heads bowed. He saw them  _completely disregarding his orders_. He blinked, twice, then looked away to the side. And when he glanced back up, Sidonus was looking calmly right back at him.

His cool eye offered nothing, just a judgmental neutrality. It was worse, somehow. Aware of his actions, yet offering no justification, no desperate entreaty to understand. This intrusion on his territory as captain, this blatant challenge of his authority, from Sidonus of all people so soon after his reassurance... it hurt. Something inside him cracked as Titus' lips curled back in an implicit promise of _we will have words_. And Sidonus simply nodded in acknowledgment, and moved on. Titus watched Sidonus pass him, and couldn't put a voice to the feeling prickling under his skin.

 

* * *

 

Out in the open air, away from the enclosed safety of the manufactorum, his skin still prickled, but this time with the weight of eyes upon him. He turned around to see Sidonus standing there, patiently for him to speak.

The purple sky cast unnatural light around them, and he couldn't stop staring at the pulsating warp gate suspended in the distance. He'd sent Leandros off in a direction to scout for enemies. Although his temper had time to cool, he still couldn't stand to look at him, who in turn had studiously pretended both his gaze and the tusk clutched in his hand didn't exist. They all knew it was an excuse, but none of them mentioned it. Sidonus had offered to stay with him as they attempted to contact the Lieutenant on their progress. They both knew it didn't take two to operate a simple com-link, and it certainly didn't take twenty minutes. They didn't mention that either.

"Sidonus," he started, but found that his throat had closed up. How did you begin to start something like this with your closest and oldest friend? How do you put voice to the sting of betrayal?

"Titus." Sidonus took over gently, allowing Titus to swallow the lump in his throat. "He just killed a Warboss. It is understandable he would want to take a trophy."

That wasn't good enough. Titus gestured at his own plain, unadorned armor. "This is all we require, Sidonus. This is what the emperor has given us. We do not need the trappings of trophies and trinkets."

Sidonus' face twisted sour. "Yes, Titus, we know your armor is clad in the same manner as when you were a battle brother, and it is only out of deference to you that I do the same," he all but growled. "But Leandros is different. He's young yet, and he needs validation. You are the most decorated young captain in Ultramarine history, what do you have to want from trophies?"

Titus, about to interject, fell silent.

"What Leandros did was not an unsizable achievement. He killed Warboss Grimskull, the leader of a waaagh which has already consumed several planets, and would have destroyed many more if he was not halted here, on this world, by Leandros' sword. Let him keep it. The lad has earned it." Having said his piece, Sidonus fell back and waited for his reaction.  

Titus felt unaccustomed shame well up in him. Sidonus, as always, had spoken the truth. 

Sidonus sighed heavily, and nodded over his shoulder. "There he comes now," he said in a low voice. "Say your piece. If there is something you want to say." And with that, he turned away, leaving the two alone. 

 Leandros just stood there clutching his bolter, awaiting his words with a nervous judgement and Titus was struck with the realization of just how young Leandros was.

"Leandros," he finally forced out. "I apologize. I was overly harsh, and that tooth you hold is well-deserved. You may keep it as a reminder of your achievements."

".....Thank you, captain."

Titus waited for anything else, but it appeared that was it. But just as Titus was about to leave, Leandros spoke up hesitantly. "Captain. I thought I should tell you. The warboss attacked me because it thought I had the power source." At this, he looked askance. "It's not worth the trouble it brings."

Titus sighed.

"Leandros," he said quietly. "I understand your reservations, but we need that power source to charge Invictus's cannons."

Leandros nodded stiffly, as if he'd already predicted his answer, but fell into step besides Titus anyway. Sidonus, who was lounging against a crate waiting for their conversation to be over, snapped to attention and took up the position on his other side. 

"Now come. We've delayed long enough dealing with these orks. It's about time we close that warp gate once and for all."

 


End file.
